Sirius Black, Dead or Alive
by Padfootwolfboy
Summary: Sirius Black is dead... or is he? Mysteriously returning late one night to a very unsuspecting Remus Lupin, Sirius seems different. Could that be because he's actually someone else sent by Voldie? RL/SB slash. Please R&R.


**Disclaimer:** All the lovely characters, especially the uber-lovely Remus and Sirius, belong to J.K. Rowling. I do not claim them as my own. If I did… well, _someone_ wouldn't be dead, would he? I'd also not have repercussions over buying apair of $40 shoes… (Okay, so I don't now either but my mother would be a lot happier since I would stop mooching off her!)

**Author's Note: **I hated the fact that Sirius died in _The Order of the Phoenix_ and immediately set about the task of proving ways that he could potentially come back. If you wish to see them, they are on my homepage. After creating these, I began to devise a story around them, and of course had to write a fic where Sirius comes back. This is like the prologue to that story. It's not all completed, far from it, and not even all the story is worked out. I might finish it or I might leave it for a later day and keep this as it is. I haven't decided yet. I love Sirius and think it's horrid that he "died." Sirius Black Lives Forever! 

 _It All Started With a Dream…_

Remus Lupin leaned his weary head against the back of the tattered seat, pressing his slender body into the used leather covering as the train rattled along at a steady beat, pushing through the dark blur of the storm, rain cascading down the dark windows. He closed his eyes shut, hoping to block out the harsh light of the small compartment as it sharply contrasted with the darkened skies that flooded outside the train over the passing hills and towns. His intention wasn't to think. It hurt to think, to try to work things out in his mind, to try to understand the whys that nibbled at the last bit of sanity he desperately clung to. He didn't want to relive it all, to relive the night in the Department of Mysteries, to recall the look of pure resistance on Harry's face about his godfather's death. Remus was much more satisfied to drift off into a dreamless sleep, where his problems wouldn't be as prominent and the grief that gnawed at his heart would die just a little. 

Unfortunately, as he rested, tufts of cinnamon and premature gray hair flayed out over the top of the seat, booted feet placed up on the seat across from him, all he could concentrate on was the constant background patter of the rain against the pane, the rocking sensation as the train sped over the rails, and the stabbing twinge and throbbing ache that played at his heart with each beat it took, seemingly to increase until it was almost physical pain and he had to place his hand over his chest, adding a gentle pressure as if begging the organ to stop torturing him. All his senses just turned his thoughts to the topic he wished with every fiber of his being to avoid: _Sirius._

He heard the name whispered in his head, as if some invisible being was murmuring it in his ear. He gasped in a sharp intake of breath as his amber eyes flared open, boring into the non-descriptive ceiling. The muscles in his jaw tightened and the hand on his chest fisted around a clump of the patched, charcoal blue cloak he had thrown around himself to keep out the bitter winds. As he felt the heat build up behind the back of his eyes, he shut them tightly, refusing to let his mutinous tears escape down his cool, pale face. 

It wasn't in his character to be emotional, no matter what. He had taught himself better. He had more self-control then this. He tried to find any matter of restrictions against himself to keep the tears at bay, but it seemed as though this time they weren't going to listen. A white hot tear slid out the corner of his eye and snaked down his cheek, disappearing somewhere into the collar of his robes. The oxygen had been halted in his lungs as the water droplet created its trail over his hollow features and he was forced to suck in a shaking breath with the consequences of suffocating to death if he didn't. He let the serene, cold air pass through him and again risked taking in another one, this one less shuddering then the first. Another, and another was slowly sucked in through his mouth until his breathing was back to its normal, stable self. He felt a calming presence wash over him and he relaxed his muscles, letting go of the now stretched fabric of his cloak. He was back in control over his body and his emotions. He couldn't let them get the better of him like that again. He knew better. 

He resumed his plan to just sit on the nearly vacant train, listing to the rain and feel the sway of the train, and let all thoughts of his dead friend pass out of his mind. It was easier said then done though, and Remus still found himself contemplating the situation over again. 

He wouldn't deem it unfair. It wasn't possible for him to label things in his life as "fair" or "unfair." There was no purpose to that anymore. He had done that once before, after Lily and James had been murdered, Peter supposedly dead, and Sirius—the one reportedly responsible—locked away in Azkaban, leaving Remus all alone, with no friends left and not even the wise wizard Dumbledore being able to fully understand. While everyone else rejoiced Voldemort's demise, Remus had locked himself up in his small cottage in the English countryside, away from prying and questioning eyes, and dwelled on the misery that seemed to like to inflict his life. He was a werewolf, that much he had gotten used to by now, and he was also all alone in the world, with no one to comfort him. The unfairness of the situation was blatant, but what good did it do to say that? It didn't fix it. Feeling sorry for himself didn't bring back James or Lily or Peter. It didn't make Sirius any less guilty. Not even talking to Dumbledore, the only person he would allow to see him in that bleak time in his life, was helping. Dumbledore, for all his wisdom, just did not seem to be able to offer any words of solace that would reassure him. 

Remus, mulling over these memories in his mind, started to wonder to himself how much more helpful Dumbledore could be to him now, and if there was even a point into going to see him. He had not locked himself away this time. In fact, he was still very active in the Order. And if Dumbledore had not understood twenty years ago when Remus had thought he lost Sirius, he certainly wouldn't understand now, giving the recent events of last summer. 

He sighed to himself, his head lolling over to one side so that he could stare out the blurry mess of shadows through the windows. The rain was still coming down hard as ever. How was he going to explain to Dumbledore what he was feeling now? He didn't even know. His relationship with Sirius had grown so complicated since the end of Harry's fourth year. 

When Sirius came to his house on Dumbledore's orders to "lie low at Lupin's," Remus didn't think their relationship would take the turn it did. When Sirius had arrived at his door as Padfoot, clawing at the worn wood, he had welcomed him, enveloping him into a hug as soon as he took his human form and offering him a cup a tea nearly right away as he came through the door. Buckbeak was also welcomed in, perhaps with a little more hesitance then Sirius had been, but still with a graciousness putting any other host to shame. After a small debate, Remus gave Buckbeak his spare room so that that Hippogriff would remain inconspicuous even to the few people who passed during the odd day. Sirius could bunk on a small cot Remus had magicked into his bedroom, insisting that Sirius would not sleep on the couch in his home. After all, they had shared a room all through Hogwarts with three other boys and even shared a flat for a few years after they graduated and Lily and James were married. 

They ate dinner in relative peace, Sirius shoveling all the food Remus would provide for him down his throat. He was obviously hungry, and still quite malnourished, judging by his bony frame. Remus could barely recall the fit, muscular, broad-shouldered boy of sixteen he had grown so used to seeing in the few pictures he still had. When the meal was finished, both men cleaned up, throwing jokes back and forth between them, enjoying times that occurred twenty years in the past. It seemed like old times again. Remus then retired to the large, battered, overstuffed chair by the fire with a book he had been reading, after showing Sirius where he could wash up and where he kept his spare robes that Sirius—hopefully—could now fit into. 

He would have never managed it if he were his usual well-fit self. Remus's figure was much more petit then his, though not so much shorter. His shoulders weren't as broad and his hips were more slender. He made up for it by his long limbs and fingers, with high cheekbones and a slightly pointed chin to frame his face. This was in contrast to Sirius's gaunt, but nevertheless, square jaw and full cheeks, with a low forehead ridge to give the impression that his dark gray, almost black, eyes were smaller than they actually were.

With Sirius finally cleaned and Remus promising to give his mangle of hair a shorter trim in the morning, the two retired to the same room to bed. It was then things begun to get complicated. At some point in the night, Remus was woken by horrible whimpering noises. He scanned the room through the dim gloom and located the sound as coming from Sirius. He tossed back his light covering of blankets, as he had split his portion of bedding with his guest, and padded lightly across the room to under the window where Sirius's small cot was. The skeletal man was flailing about in his sleep, hands grasping unto his forearms so hard the skin underneath had turned from white to purple as the bruises began to grow. His nails, though short, were beginning to leave marks on his rubbery skin, one even drawing blood. His once handsome face was twisted into an expression of pain and fury and hate. Remus had only once seen a look like that on his face, when he was facing Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack. But still, it could barely compare to this. The pain his dream was inflicting was showing up clear on his face. Remus didn't hesitate another moment. He reached down, placing a kind, calloused hand on Sirius's shoulder and began to shake the sleeping man awake. It took more force then Remus had originally anticipated and by the time he had jarred Sirius from his sleeping reality, he was sitting on the edge of his bed. Sirius flashed his eyes around the room quickly, making sure just who was there with him, and then they focused on Remus. He seemed to relax a bit then.

"Are you okay?" Remus asked in a soothing tone, tenderly tugging Sirius's bruised wrists away from his strangling embrace. The man in question didn't even seem to realize he had inflicted injuries upon himself. 

Sirius let him take his arm, study it, and place it back down next to him after he had said a light healing spell. Remus knew all the right spells and incantations for little self-imposed cuts and scraps, being the experienced werewolf that he was. It was then he answered Remus's question and concerned look.

"Yes," he responded in his gruff, rarely used voice. He could tell the man above him was waiting for more of an explanation then just a one-word reply so he continued. "I was dreaming… I was in Azkaban again." His dark eyes glazed over with a new fear as he said this. "The Dementors—they were trying to give me a-a Kiss…" He drifted off from there and stared blankly at the other corner of the room. "All I could remember was seeing James' face, lifeless, as he lay there in the ruins of his house." Sirius closed his eyes. The memory was still very painful to him. "All I could help thinking was that it was somehow my fault." He gave an audible shudder and Remus wrapped a protective arm around him. 

"You know it wasn't your fault," the light-haired man said softly, nudging Sirius with one hand on his bony shoulder. "You know that, right?" He paused and looked down compassionately at his old friend. Sirius just stared expressionless up at him, dark eyes locked into his glowing amber ones. "And you are _not_ going back to Azkaban. I don't care what newspapers keep insisting. You are innocent, Padfoot, and we're going to prove that." He smiled at Sirius, who weakly tried to mimic the action on his lips.

"Thanks, Moony," he breathed out roughly, letting out a slight yawn.

"You're welcome, Pads," he replied, standing up from the bed. "I think we should both to go sleep now." He crossed the small room over to his bed. "G'night." Through the shuffling of covers, Remus could barely make out a muffled "night" as a response. 

When the next day had come, it was clear Sirius didn't have a very good night. Remus doubted whether Sirius even went back to sleep after he had been woken from his nightmare, or if he did sleep, it obviously was to the same extent that he was resting while he thought he would receive a Dementor's Kiss. He resolved that if Sirius had another bad dream like that, he would stay with him this time to make sure he went to sleep and slept restfully. Pushing that to the back on his mind, the two got on with their day. Remus held true to his word about giving Sirius a much needed trim, and cut his hair back to the length it was when they were teenagers in the seventies. Despite Sirius insistence that he had had a trim after getting out of prison but before coming to the house, Remus was sure that, if it were true, it was at the very least done badly and not sufficiently enough. It was only until Remus had brushed through the mane of mats and tangles, and given it three more thorough washes did Sirius finally look presentable. They then went about the rest of their day, Sirius curiously following around Remus as he went through his daily routine. 

Night fell again quickly, and soon after Remus had drifted off into a restful sleep, he heard the whimpering noises from Sirius. He again went to wake his tortured companion, but this time, stayed with him through the night. They woke lying in the same bed, Sirius's arm curled around Remus's waist. No one said anything about the strange position they had woken up to, as both were too preoccupied with other thoughts. After this repeated itself for the next few nights, with Sirius having nightmares and Remus climbing into his small cot to comfort him, it didn't seem so out of place. 

When this had been happening for just over two weeks, and they were about to move into the old Black house as the new headquarters for the Order and after Sirius had made sure that Remus had the possibility to continue his nightly ritual if his dreams got too out of hand, a new twist to the ways Remus would offer consolation happened. Sirius was having a worse than usual nightmare, and while he talked about it with Remus, the light-haired man pulled him into the larger bed that they had begun to share, the cot forgotten. Sirius was having a hard time controlling his emotion, and, as he started to detail the vivid horrors, tears began to leak down his cheeks. This was more than Remus could handle, and since the lines of their friendship were already somewhat skewed, it did not seem so unusual that a wizard placing a chaste kiss on his friend's forehead to calm him down was acceptable. 

Even after the idea of placing a calming kiss of a forehead was introduced into the mixture, Remus and Sirius still shared one bed. It was not such a big stretch that one night, the lines that separated friendship from something more were blurred to such an extent that they weren't definable anymore. As Remus placed a loving kiss on Sirius's forehead as he slowly drifted off to sleep, Sirius watched him, a strange gleam in his dark eyes. When Remus pulled back, ready to roll over and go to sleep himself, Sirius sat up. 

"Something wrong?" Remus inquired, clueless of the sudden urge that Sirius had gotten. The dark-haired man shook his head, now still slender, but looking much better than he had when he first arrived at Lupin's. "What is it then?" the other asked, a tone of worry in his honeyed voice. He propped himself up and one arm and stared at Sirius. The odd inkling Sirius had originally received suddenly grew to an uncontainable point as Remus closed the space between them. Out of something different then love, but not quite lust either, Sirius pushed his mouth onto Remus's in a rough, chaste kiss. When he pulled away, he could see the surprise in the werewolf's eyes. He had not been expecting that, but then neither had Sirius. Not really noting who leaned forward first, the kiss was reinitiated in the same forceful way it had originally begun. Sirius pushed Remus down on the bed, not tearing his mouth away from the coarse lip lock, and gracelessly clambered on top of him. It had been a while since either of them had engaged in any type of act like this and suddenly, both being red-blooded males only in their mid-thirties, a flood of desire and need overtook both of them. The kiss continued and was prolonged, becoming something much more and much more in depth then either had thought that it could become. 

In the morning it wasn't discussed. They woke as they usually did, with Sirius arm draped around Remus's waist, dressed, and went to eat breakfast. The following night, it again started awkwardly, both wanting it but neither knowing how to acknowledge his need. As this continued for nearly every night they spent together, eventually becoming less uncomfortable and just reverting to accepted fact. During the day, they help every appearance of being just good friends, neither bringing it up or talking about it, and then at night their relationship changed to this dysfunctional, needy, dependent act, which consumed both of them so much that they didn't find the time to think about if what they were doing was healthy or not, or what it could mean for their friendship. 

During all this time, Remus never kidded himself about any romance being involved. He cared about Sirius, yes, and Sirius cared about him. They were friends, and would always be so. But to label it as something more was imprudent. They kissed and fought and bit at each other in the night like two wild dogs unable to control their own natural instincts because they both needed it. They both needed to use and to be used by someone. That's all it really was. There was no emotion involved. 

Remus had already assured himself about this with not many feelings on the subject, positive or negative, when they moved into the old Black house where the Order was to be headquartered. Sirius had made sure that they could continue their nightly practice when they wanted, and so Remus went about his days with everyone under the impression that he and Sirius where the best of friends again and nothing more. Sirius seemed quite content to do this as well. 

As things with the Order become more desperate and urgent, their nights became fewer and more far between, but it was still not unusual to find Sirius climbing into his bed or he climbing into Sirius's every other night, or at very least once a week. Even when Harry came and then left for Hogwarts, he and Sirius continued to interact with each other, during the days seemingly like friends, and during the nights being something completely all together different. 

It changed though, with Sirius's death. The first night he was gone, Remus was still so numb with shock he could barely notice, but by the third and fourth night, his body was starting to miss Sirius as much as his heart did. It was getting so bad that he couldn't even sleep throughout the nights anymore. Somewhere along line, he realized, Remus Lupin had become—much without meaning to—dependent on the gaunt, lean body of Sirius Black to get him through the nights. When Sirius's mouth was on him and his long, slender fingers were wrangled through the long strands of his ebon hair, feeling the waves of pleasure Sirius caused to surge through his body, he didn't feel so alone.

 The years upon years of loneliness and fear of never having companionship again seemed to fade away right at those particular moments. And while Remus had known to keep how his heart craved for Sirius and how his body craved for him separate, he had gotten them combined at some part. The nights in his arms were a release for Remus. It was going against the norm. It was a way for him to feel that he still had his life in control. While Sirius always seemed to be the one to initiate things at first, Remus still wanted them as much as he did.  

But now Sirius was gone, and Remus didn't have that type of release. Now he felt more alone then ever. While Sirius had been able to escape Azkaban, escape Dementors, escape his families evil lineage, Remus hated himself that he doubted that Sirius could escape death. No one had ever fled from Azkaban and made it, except for Sirius. If anyone could come back after he had been pronounced dead by falling through a veil in the Department of Mysteries, it would be Sirius, and Remus knew that would be a neat trick if he managed it. 

The train had slowed down long ago, the rain now a light drizzle on the windows against a dark, cloudy sky, light partially showing from the horizon as the sun struggled to rise and brush away the night full of storm clouds. An old, haggard wizard with a bad limp in his right leg shook Remus awake from the sleep he had, unbeknownst to himself, fallen into. 

" 'Ere's your stop, I believe," mumbled the worse for wear wizard, tapping Remus sharply on his shoulder. 

"Thank you," he replied, standing up, stretching and placing a sickle in the waiting, outstretched, wrinkled hand of the wizard in conductor's robes. The conductor left, muttering about something sourly, one hand propped up on his back to steady himself as he limped out the compartment. Remus gave a weak smile to himself, not finding it as amusing as he typically would, and picked up his worn suitcase, heading off the gleaming red train. 

He sighed to himself loudly, setting down his baggage so that he could tighten his cloak around his shoulders in the characteristic early, bitter morn of late summer. He lifted up the small, rectangular, battered suitcase and raised his eyes to admire the backdrop of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as it emerged out of the chilled mist rising from the lake. Gathering up his courage and as much sense as was left in his mind, he started the walk to the front gates, where the headmaster, Dumbledore, had promised to meet him. Secretly, Remus hoped that the "talk" the honorable headmaster has requested to have with him only contained information about the Order and would not trod onto the subject of his recently departed friend. How was he going to explain to Dumbledore the new relationship he and Sirius had?

_Well, you see, it all started with a dream…_

**Author's Note:** Well wasn't that nice? Okay, possibly not so nice as it was rather—well—bleak. Usually I love fluff, but I can't write fluff to this. This is actually the way I believe they got together.  I don't believe that they were anything more then friends at Hogwarts, despite what I may write. However, if they _were_ something more than just friends, it would happen the way it does in _A Kiss of Pain or Pleasure_. I love that fic. You should read that. You should. Along with all my others. Hee hee. Okay, now that I'm done plugging my own fics, you can leave a review. The more you review, the more willing I am to spend my summer writing more depressing Sirius-is-dead type stories. However, very important in this one, HE'S COMING BACK!!! That's right. He is. Isn't that a happy thought… ::Sighs dreamily and huggles Remmie and Siri Prisoner of Azkaban plushies::

Please Review! Thanks. 


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